


Pluviophile Pirate

by nonsensicatty



Category: Captain Swan - Fandom, Once Upon a Time (TV), ouat
Genre: F/M, Romance, monolouge, suggestion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-13
Updated: 2015-11-13
Packaged: 2018-05-01 11:18:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5203826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nonsensicatty/pseuds/nonsensicatty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s in the simple moments: the mingled limbs, the heavy sighs, the heady gazes. It’s in the quiet moments: the wandering hands, the breathy kisses, the blind passion. She can’t deny it, and he’d never let her – magic is a part of who she is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pluviophile Pirate

_I could look into your eyes_

_Until the sun comes up_

_When we’re wrapped in light and love_

_Put your open lips on mine_

_And let them shut_

_For they’re designed_

_To be together_

_With your body next to mine_

_Our hearts will beat as one_

– Ed Sheeran

 

It’s subtle, but definite. Graceful, but brilliant. Tender, but riveting. 

Days like today it is the most prominent, when the sky is washed white and the grass glows against the downpour. When the winds whip against the window panes and the silence is broken only by the rain. She can’t help it – she doesn’t even realize it, but he revels in it.

That’s why he smiled as brightly as he did when he opened his door to see her standing there. That’s why he had out the blankets she loved so much, draped over the couch the way she couldn’t resist. That’s why he traded his leather jacket and tee for a soft sweater, the one she’d wrap her arms under when she got chilled. (That’s also why he asked Granny how to set his thermostat lower.)

These days were his favorite because they were her least. She thrived in the sun, without it, everything just seemed too cold and overwhelming. To his endless confusion and pleasure, she sought refuge in his cramped apartment and scruffy embrace. It wasn’t long before he came to know the preparations for such occasions. The coffee was already brewing in his tiny kitchenette; the landline she’d shown him how to operate, removed from the wall; the blinds angled up to shield them from wandering eyes; his bed an inviting mess and his hair unkempt for her to play with as she slipped in and out of consciousness.

He knew by the way she awkwardly entered the apartment – hands glued in her back pockets, eyes everywhere but his – that he had it right. He also knew she was too defensive a person to respond to his preparations without proper encouragement, and so he slid an arm ‘round her waist and pulled her in.   

His mouth was waiting for hers; delivering her that warmth the clouds deprived her of, the warmth she knocked on his door to find. It melted away her inhibitions so they could meld together as they so perfectly did, their bodies completing the other miraculously.

That’s when he felt it – skitter over his lips like hot embers, burn in her fingertips as she ground them into his scalp – her _light_. Like a sun all her own, it was undeniable in the gloomy overcast. It glimmered in her sea green eyes and kinked in her fair hair. Coiled in her contended sigh and danced in her smile. 

Magic… unlike any in his two hundred years. Breathtaking.

It shone only in these quite moments, with coffee and blankets and limbs all tangled together on the couch. In the warmth of her giggle, the beat of her heart, the pull of her gaze. No distractions, their worries tucked away somewhere forgotten, just simple conversations and peaceful silences. They were tiny bursts of bliss. Minute, but blinding. Fleeting, but tantalizing. 

Only he was allowed to see it. Feel it bloom between them as he cradled her against his chest, her hands sliding up his shirt to press against warm skin. It lingered wherever there was contact: her arms wrapped high around his bare waist; her head resting over his steady heart; his hand lost in her blonde locks; his chin propped against the top of her head.

Though it wasn’t just a light – light didn’t burn like this – it was a fire. Dangerous and wild. Hungry.

It’d ignite, from embers against his skin to flames in his veins. Escalate from a light in her eyes to a smoldering in her jeans. It grew from a flame to a blaze, scorching between them as they stumbled down the hall, coffee and couch forgotten.

She’d never be sated, and he’d never burnout.

He’d never tire of the magic of her cry, in his name on her lips, in the glisten of her skin, in the curve of her hips. The brilliance of her legs wrapped around his waist, the radiance in her hair spilt over his pillow, the scalding of her back arched into him.

And when the shortage of oxygen and expenditure of heat chocked her fire out, he was there to compensate. To wrap her in his warmth and sink with her into the infinity of downy sheets. To be sure, these were his favorite of days (secretly they were hers as well).

**Author's Note:**

> There you go, just some domestic fluff. I was just inspired and whipped this up in about a day – which would explain the lack of depth and plot :)
> 
> Comments are fuel to the fires of my imagination!
> 
> \- Nonsensicatty


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